


Untouchable

by NerdyAdjacent



Series: Dark Days [13]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bank Robbers, Blow Jobs, Car Chases, Character Death, Don't expect a happy ending, FBI agent Roman Reigns, Hand Jobs, Heist fic, Loosely Based on the song "lay me down" by the dirty heads, M/M, M/M Sex, Murder, Road Head, Seriously they go at it like rabbits, Shameless Smut, Suicide Attempt, ambrollins - Freeform, m/m relationship, mentions of abuse, mentions of drug use, mentions of dub/non con, modern day Bonnie and clyde, they have a lot of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyAdjacent/pseuds/NerdyAdjacent
Summary: Dean had said that they would just do it once, get enough money to move to a beach in Mexico, somewhere where all their problems didn't exist anymore; he'd buy a little cantina and sell drinks in coconuts to the tourists. Seth believed him because Seth would follow Dean into Hell itself if he asked.





	1. Chapter 1

It started as a game. 

Could they do it? 

Were they smart enough to get away with it? 

As it turns out, they were very, _very_ good at it. That is, with practice. That first robbery was sloppy, the result of watching too many heist movies and not enough planning. Spur of the moment, unexpected, something they had talked about doing at night in their shitty apartment, a way to a better life together. Dean had said that they would just do it once, get enough money to move to a beach in Mexico, somewhere where all their problems didn't exist anymore; he'd buy a little cantina and sell drinks in coconuts to the tourists. Seth believed him because Seth would follow Dean into Hell itself if he asked. It was the thrill of the act, the adrenaline rush, the pure power, that hooked them. 

They got better at it by the fourth bank. 

By the tenth, they were the most wanted criminals in the United States. 

And they lived for every second of it.

They had plenty of money, plenty of chances to get the hell out of dodge and find that beach, but neither seemed to want to stop despite the trail of bodies they left in their wake. Casualties, collateral damage on the path to their own highway to hell. The idea of stopping never occurred to either of them. Why would they? They had more money, more fun, and more of everything that they had ever wanted. Whats was dropping a grand to get into the best clubs, drink the best alcohol, party until the sun came up only to fall into each other arms at the end of it all? There was no incentive to stop. Why would they? They had the money to burn, they were young, in love, and could have anything they wanted. 

It was heaven.

And they would go down in a blaze of glory together if they had to. 

Maybe that was their one mistake. They had gotten cocky, complacent, sloppy. To Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins, they were untouchable and no one could catch the dynamic duo. They were famous, had fans and admirers, and a slew of magazine covers contemplating just who these two handsome men were and where they might strike next. 

They loved it. Modern day Bonnie and Clyde they were called. Not too bad a moniker until you consider how their path of destruction ended. That's because they hadn't counted on catching the eye of one of the best the FBI had to offer. 

Roman Reigns was top of his class at Quantico, a real all American. By the time he was 30, he’d already received two commendations and a prominent position in the bureau's criminal profiling division. And he loved his job. 

Until this file landed on his desk. 

He thought it would be easy. He’d dealt with serial killers and the very dregs of society, so what were the antics of a few murderous bank robbers? 

He was dead wrong. 

They were smarter than he anticipated, hitting their targets and disappearing like nothing had ever happened, a puff of smoke and a few dead civilians in their wake. Any photos of the two he could get his hands on were grainy at best and they weren't stupid enough to look directly into camera. In fact, he’d say they were well aware of where the cameras were when they went into the bank, which meant they did their research. These two would take him from state-to-state following bad leads and poor information until he’d give up and start from square one. 

They were smart.

They were fearless.

They had no problem cutting down anyone in their path.

They were his white whale.


	2. Chapter 2

He loved these moments right after a successful heist, the ones where Dean is still so charged up he's practically buzzing, where Seth’s on his back with his legs spread letting the man he loves do whatever he wants to his body because he needs to release that energy somehow. He loves the way Dean growls in his ear when he's so close to coming he can practically taste it; he loves the way nails scratch down the sensitive skin of his arms and chest; he loves Dean's hands on him. When he finally does release, Seth isn't far behind and they lay there, breaths heavy and tired, in the hotel room they'd rented under fake names just catching their breath, together.

These were the moments where everything they had done becomes worth it. Every gunshot, every dollar stolen, all the planning and watching, all of it worth every second when Dean whispers his I love you’s into his ear and gently kisses his forehead. 

Dean pulls out slowly, careful not to hurt him, but smirks at the shivered aftershock the overstimulation sends through Seth, proud and smug he'd made his lover feel so good. He's off the bed and Seth feels cold, the loss of Dean's warmth on him and in him always the worst part after they have sex, even if it doesn't last long because he's only gone a minute, off to the bathroom for a rag to clean up the mess they've made. He cuddles into Dean's side when he plops back down and throws the covers over both of them, holding onto Seth like it's the only thing anchoring him to this world. Maybe that were true. As far as they were concerned, each other was all that mattered.

“Where are we going next?” Seth yawns, feeling the high he'd been sent on begin to wane and that tired afterglow start to set in. Setting his chin on Dean's chest he knows neither of them will fight sleep when it finally takes over, but they needed a plan to move on first. This hotel, though beautiful with its city views and plush bed, was to close to the bank they'd hit. 

But Dean chuckles and cards his fingers through Seth's hair, lovingly smoothing the wayward strands away from his face as if to say it will all be fine and Seth believes it, because they've been at this for a year now and no one has even come close to catching them. “You choose.”

“Cincinnati.” He says without thinking, knowing Dean will probably put the kibosh on that really quick, which he does with one look. “I just want to see where you came from.”

“Were not going to Cincinnati, Seth.” As if that was that even though Seth had been pushing to go there for a while now. “Pick somewhere else.”

But Seth's determined to find out why they could never go there. Dean said it was because he'd spent enough time in that hellhole and he had no desire to spend anymore of his life wallowing in that city because nothing good ever happens in Cincinnat. But there had to be more to it, despite the protests and abrupt subject changes. He let it drop though, to tired to fight Dean on this again, especially not after being so vigorously satisfied by his lover not ten minutes ago. So he settled on Iowa, he didn't really care where as long as they were together. 

In the morning, they'd pack up their guns and duffle bags full of money, check out of this hotel, and move on like they always did. On to the next score, the next rush, the next bank. The thought of it set his skin tingling in anticipation because that rush, the pure adrenaline of the job, the danger, the stealing, and killing if he had to just did it for him. Just the idea that they could be doing this all over again in a week had that delicious tightness pooling in stomach and his hand trailing down Dean's abs and under the blanket until he wrapped his fingers around him. 

Deans sharp intake of breath and slow hiss spurred him to shift position and straddle his lover's hips while his fingers remained wrapped around him. 

“Round two already?” Dean asks in a shaky half groan and throws his head back with one particularly rough tug, just the way he likes it because Seth knows exactly what Dean likes. 

He bites his lip before he leans down to lick at Dean's mouth. “I was just thinking about the robbery.” 

“Yeah?” Dean grunts when Seth again twists in just the right way. 

“Yeah. How you pointed the gun in that security guards face.” A shiver runs through his skin and he doesn't try to hold back the moan at the memory. “So powerful and in control. I want to see it again. I want to see how you make people fear you…”

Dean is barely holding it together, breaths heavy and chest heaving faster and faster with every word Seth utters, every twist of his wrist or sharp upstroke to run his thumb along the head of his cock. 

Then he's nipping at his ear, licking at the shell and biting at the lobe to give Dean that jolt of pain he needs, that final push that has him shoving Seth back and flipping him over easily. It wasn't like Seth was fighting him, propping himself up on unsteady hands and knees while his lover fills his already used hole for the second time that night. Dean grips his hips so tight Seth knows there will be bruises, but doesn't care because this is what makes everything worth it.

\---

Roman Reigns is tired. 

He's been tired for the last six months and knows the exact reason for it. It's the two men he's been staring at on his computer screen for the last 45 minutes, the blurry footage of their most recent hit not enough to give him any positive ID, which was nothing new. He had files full of fuzzy camera screenshots and computer folders of unusable bullshit that he'd already sifted through more than he'd care to admit. Yet still he sat there like the image on the screen would give him the answers he needed.

Who were they? He knew their names, sure, but they had to be fake because no one by the names of Dean Ambrose or Seth Rollins turned up in any database the bureau had at their disposal. Why were they doing this? A sick thrill? They'd hit enough banks now and stolen enough money that could retire fat and happy on a desert island somewhere, so it couldn't be just for that anymore. What was their motive? Where would they hit next and when? There was no pattern to the banks they chose, like they were throwing darts at a map. Hell, maybe they were. 

All he knew was that these were simple questions any experienced profiler should be able to answer by this point in an investigation, yet here he sat with nothing but grainy security footage looking like a fool. 

23 banks hit in the last year, 12 people killed in the line of fire, $4,456,765 total unmarked dollars stolen, 361 safety deposit boxes raided, and one hell of a pissed off boss. He went into this case the hotshot agent who'd taken down two serial killers and a terrorist cell in New Jersey all before he turned 30. Now he was the former hotshot who couldn't catch two ghosts robbing banks in broad daylight, murdering innocent people who got braver than they should have, criminal celebrities the public idolized for some ungodly reason. 

That is why he was tired. 

His double shot latte didn't quell any of it either. He might as well just hook up a caffeine drip to his vein. It would probably be cheaper than the amount of money he spent at Starbucks throughout the day. It's a wonder he didn't have heart palpitations. 

He couldn't look at this footage anymore tonight. It was well after midnight and he would have to be back at it at 8am. Not like he wasn't going to go back to his apartment and look over these files again, but at least he wouldn't be _here_.

It didn't take him long to pack up his jacket and toss his laptop and files into his bag and sling it over his shoulder. Hey says goodbye to the night watchman, and piles himself into his company issued sedan only to huff out a breath in tired exasperation. At least this time of night the beltway out of DC wouldn't be as crowded. 

His mind wandered the entire drive home, to the two men who would still be staring at him from his computer screen in a few hours. There had to be a pattern and not this random hit after hit of bank after bank and the fact that he couldn't get a grip on it bothered him. It didn't get much better once he was heating up his leftover Chinese food in the microwave, or sitting out his files and photos on his sparse dining room table. 

This continued and unsuccessful search for some sort of connection could mean more lives, more money lost, more manpower needed, and the continued problem of these two running amuck. All he had were statements of the few witnesses they managed to corral and they all said the same thing: two men in their late twenties to early thirties, one with shorter reddish blonde hair, the other with longer dark hair. They entered the building with masks, gloves, and hats, subdued security and pulled guns on the tellers. For the most part, it was quick in and out jobs. Unless someone got brave. 

They didn’t discriminate between banks, they didn't have the same vehicle each time, they never stayed long enough to get caught. 

Perfect.

Ruthless.

Smart.

That's all he had to go on. His only consolation was that eventually they would have to make a mistake, they all did. Ego and complacency could get anyone into trouble, let alone those who think they're untouchable. It had to happen sooner or later.

It had to.


	3. Chapter 3

“You look like shit, Reigns.”

He looks up, not realizing he's been staring at a black screen for the last five minutes. He hadn’t slept much last night, and was at his desk with his double-shot latte bright and early at 6am because he had nothing better to do. His tie was loose at his neck, his shirt was wrinkled, and his jacket was sitting behind his chair because he just didn't care; it was starting to catch up to him. So, yeah, he looked like shit. He didn’t need his partner to point that out to him.

Charlotte is looking down at him from the edge of his desk when he looks at her, smirking like she’d just caught him with his hands in the cookie jar. “Sorry.” he says. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“I can tell. Lucky for you Director Foley doesn't care that you look like you slept in your clothes.” then “Did you sleep in your clothes?”

He only has to look at her for her to know the answer, which makes that smirk spread and she nods to his computer screen. “That bank robbery case getting to you?”

He answers her with a heavy sigh and brings up his computer screen where the very same photo of the robbers is still staring back at them. “I just can’t catch a break with these two, and I know they’ll strike again. How can there be no set pattern for serial bank robbers? It's unheard of.”

She shrugs. “Maybe that's the pattern.”

“What?”

“Unpredictability.” She says. “It makes them untouchable because you can't guess where they'll strike. No pattern is the pattern. Staring at the same grainy footage for hours at a time isn't going to help you figure them out."

Shes right. He knows she is, but he’s unwilling to accept _no pattern_ as a definitive answer because that wouldn't help him catch them. Besides, everyone has a pattern, a modus operandi, a method to their madness. He just hasn’t found one yet. But he would, or so help him…

“Hey, what's that?” she says and points at the screen. She's indicating towards the one with the longer hair, arm outstretched with gun pointed at a customer who is cowering at his feet. Its nothing new, but she's pointing to the small sliver of skin visible between his gloved hand and his long sleeved shirt. There, on the inside of his wrist was something he’d never noticed before because maybe he’d just been staring at the wrong things for far too long. 

He’s on his feet in an instant, searching his bag for the physical copy of the photo he’d taken home with him last night and a magnifying glass. Sure enough, his break was staring him right in the face and he never even knew it. 

A tattoo. Some sort of black wording inset in a ragged box. He’d need to get down to the tech geeks to clarify the photo, but it was definitely something he could use. 

He hugs Charlotte, startling her. “You're a genius!”

“I know.” she says, patting him awkwardly on the back. “I know.”

He saves the file to a thumb drive and leaves her sitting on his desk to sprint down to the basement, not even bothering to take the elevator. 

\---

Iowa is a great expanse of nothing dotted with strip malls and small towns to break up the monotony and Seth immediately regrets choosing it. He was born here, but never really looked back once he met Dean because what did he have in Iowa? Nostalgia maybe, but other than that, nothing. He had no family to speak of - at least none that would talk to him - nothing really to draw him back except the promise of another big score with the man in the driver's seat of the stolen Audi.

Dean liked driving, and usually picked fast cars to lift, so Seth never fought him on it, but he was shit at stealing them, always breaking the windows and ripping open the dashboard to hotwire it. Which was so like Dean, a hurricane on two legs if Seth ever saw one. Its one of the things that drew him to the enigmatic man in the first place. 

They’d met when they were 21, in a bar of all places. Who meets in a bar anymore? He doesn't remember how the fight started, but there he was just ready to throw down with Seth's boyfriend at the time. He remembers thinking that this man had some balls, because Seth never exactly went for the small, weakling types, and even remembers it was Dean who threw the first punch in that alleyway. Usually, he’d try and stop the fights when his man had to much to drink and more courage than he probably should, but this one he let slide and stood off to the corner watching. But he wasn't watching the man he’d come with, no his eyes were firmly stuck on Dean; on the leather jacket he’d tossed to the side, on the tight t-shirt covering a thin but strong frame, on the jeans slung low on his hips, but, most importantly, on the fearless smirk he wore like a badge of honor. 

Dean had won that fight, barely, but left Seth's mouth dry when he held out a bloody knuckled hand to him and winked. “You should come with me.” he’d said, a command and a promise of better things than what he already had. And Seth did, without question, because Dean was the type of man Seth needed. He was the type of man that set his skin alight, his head spinning, and his body reeling in all the right ways. 

Dean was it for Seth. 

And Seth was it for Dean. 

They both knew it. 

Dean settled on an out of the way, small town whose name wouldn't matter in a few days when they were on their way to the next hit, the next score. But, it had a half decent hotel situated right across the street from the bank they intended to rob. Dean had said that they'd spent enough time in shitty motels and dingy, mold covered mattresses. So, they stayed in the best whatever that particular city had to offer, paid in cash, and registered under aliases. This time it was their real names, ones they hadn't used since they met, Jon Good and Colby Lopez. Seth sure as shit didn't miss that name. 

In the room, Dean barely managed to put his bags down before he pushed Seth up against the wall and clamped his mouth down on his for a bruising kiss. Maybe it was the thrill of a new place or the need to burn off pent up energy after a long drive, but this was Dean's way of starting and ending a heist. 

And Seth was more than into it. He'd started getting hard in the elevator, especially with Dean leaning against him like he had been, smelling of leather and musk and everything that was so very _Dean_. 

Walking sex in a leather jacket. 

“I've been wanting to do this since we crossed state lines.” He purrs and mouths at Seth's neck. “You, on your knees for me. So perfect.”

Again their mouths are fused and Seth is nothing but putty in Dean's hands, like he always is, melting into every touch and every twitch of hard earned muscle pressed up against him. 

“You want me?” And he moans when Dean's response to that is to slip his knee between Seth's legs and press up against his aching dick. “Take me then.”

That's all the permission Dean needs and he's pushing Seth to his knees. They hadn't even gotten far enough to turn the lights on, but Seth doesn't need light to find Dean's belt buckle. It's off and thrown across the room in a flash and Seths already gotten his zipper down and Dean's impressive length in his hand. He gives no warning, liking the way Dean jumps and bucks his hips when Seth takes him down to the hilt. “ _Fuuuuuuuuck…_ ”

And if that isn't the sweetest sound Seth has ever heard, he doesn't know what is. Making Dean crumble is one of his favorite things in the world because Dean, though powerful in bed and out of it, will still submit to whatever Seth wants to do to him. He's the only one who can make Dean shudder, make him moan and groan, make his entire body flex with just the movement of his mouth and tongue. He _knows_ Dean, knows every tell he has, and exploits it. The fingers twisted in his hair and the sharp tug that followed were pretty good indications that he was close, so close that all it would take was one or two more long, hard sucks and Dean was coming deep into Seth's throat, groaning out some garbled version of his name as he let loose. 

Dean isn't done with him yet and tugs him up to kiss him deeply, his tongue probing and Seth knows it's because he likes to taste himself on his lover, like a mark ownership. He's being pushed back before he knows it and his knees connect with the bed, and he's on his back with Dean hovering over him, mouths still fused. 

But just like Seth knows every nuance that is Dean, Dean knows every way to make Seth moan. It's the way his hand is in Seths jeans, the way the calloused hand wraps around him and _squeezes_ , how it doesn't take much more that a rasped “Come for me, baby” and Seth is doing just that. 

“I love you.” He breathes and Dean is kissing him again, far softer than before. 

“I love you.”

As much as he'd love to lay there with Dean, he's sticky and needs a shower, so he rolls off the bed and heads to the bathroom to do just that. He almost makes it too, but dean is calling his name before he can step under the warm spray. It's not his normal voice, either. He's frantic, so unlike him, and seths got a towel around his waist and is out in the main part of their room before Dean has a chance to call for him again. “What's the matter?”

Dean isn't looking at him, his eyes are glued to the television where the news had a special report playing on every channel, a blurry photo of them plastered on the screen. He doesn't understand what the problem is until they zoom in on Seth's wrist where a clear as day image of his tattoo is blown up while a man in a separate screen is talking to the press. 

_”We believe this is the first significant break in the case of the serial bank robbers known as Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins. We're asking the public to please be on the lookout for anyone with this tattoo and we beg them to contact local authorities as soon as possible.”_

There's an unreadable look in Dean's eyes glued to the screen and the man speaking. The wheels are turning in his head, Seth can tell, and that's not always a good thing. “Do you think the front desk saw your wrist?” He asks him.

“I-I don't know.”

Dean doesn't say anymore, not yet anyway. He's still watching as the broadcast continues. 

_”Agent Reigns, is there the possibility of catching these two anytime soon?”_ a female reporter asks. 

_”The FBI is following up on some leads, but we want to remind the public that these two are considered armed and extremely dangerous. They've already killed twelve individuals on their rampage and we have no reason to believe they won't do it again.”_

“Agent Reigns.” Dean says to himself and grins in that way that means he's about to do something incredibly stupid. He was studying the agent, Seth knew that look. Dean was taking in everything about him, from his strong and exotic features and black hair way too long for an FBI agent, to the sound of his voice. Dean wanted to remember this man. 

“Dean, no.” He says simply, warns, but Dean isn't listening. At this point, it doesn't matter what Seth says, whatever idea he's gotten into his head was what he was going to do. 

“Pack your shit.” Dean says, word final. “We can't stay here.”

“What are you planning?” 

Dean turns off the television and just sort of looks at him with a crooked smirk and murder in his eyes. 

“Dean, we should lay low.” Seth damn near begs because he knows that's what they should do, wait a few weeks until people forget about the tattoo. That's not what was going to happen if the look on Dean's face was any indication. 

“We're not laying low.” Dean says. “We're hitting that bank. But I think we should leave a little calling card this time, don't you?”

Seth could fight him on it, but when Dean got like this it just did something to Seth and all common sense went out the window. He was smiling before he knew it, so ready to follow Dean's lead.


	4. Chapter 4

Seth likes watching Dean work. There's something about the way he scrunches up his face when he's trying to concentrate that is just simply adorable. He could watch him all day. The fact that he was naked only added to his voyeuristic intent. But Dean is more focused than usual, more into his schematics and planning than Seth would like because he is determined to make a statement this time. He still hasn't told Seth what his plans are, and he wonders if Dean even knows what he's going to do. And that's fine with Seth because whatever it is, he knows it will be glorious and Seth will reward him handsomely for it. 

“Dean?” 

Dean hums at him, not looking up from the computer screen when he does. 

“Let's go out.”

Dean finally looks at him. “Not now, Seth. I’m busy.”

He sighs and rolls himself from the bed. He knew how to get Dean's attention and moves behind him to gently place his head on his shoulder and let his hands wander down his chest. “C’mon, take a break. It'll be there in a few hours.” And he kisses the side of his neck, grinning at the shiver that runs through Dean's skin.

But again, Dean shrugs him off. “I _said_ not now.”

For all of the things Seth loves about Dean, there were few that he absolutely hated. This was one of them. When he gets so engrossed in a job, in the planning, in the setup and execution that he ignores everything around him, including Seth, that nothing seems to matter to him. Seth could do naked jumping jacks in front of his face right now and it would cause nothing but mild annoyance, and he seriously considered doing just that. But what was the point? Dean was a single minded, goal-oriented individual who couldn't do much more than one thing at a time, especially when it came to a heist. 

Seth offered to help, more than once, but with the appearance of this new Agent, it was like that was Dean’s all consuming thought. Agent Reigns. He wanted to make sure this man would never forget him because he sure as shit would never catch them. 

So he steps away from Dean and rummages around in their discarded clothing for his underwear and jeans, fishing a tee from his bag as well. Dean doesn’t seem to notice until Seth starts tying his shoes. “Where are you going?”

“Out.” Seth answers and grabs his jacket. “ _Someone_ won't let me help them, and _someone_ is too busy to have a little fun with me, and this hotel is shit compared to the other one.”

“You can’t go out.” Dean snorts like Seth is being ridiculous and is supposed to just accept that answer. He puts up with a lot from Dean, and he even enjoys being bossed around sometimes, but not now. So he sets his jaw and slings his jacket on, making sure to pull the sleeve down to cover his tattoo, and reaches for the hotel room door. His name being called stops him.

Dean is on his feet now and Seth tries to hold in the hitch of his breath when that specimen of a man walks toward him with determination - and more than a touch of concern - in his eyes. He takes Seth's face between his hands and gently rubs at his cheeks with his thumbs. 

“I’m sorry.” He says and seems to mean it. He kisses Seth gently and again he’s melting into that strong presence pressed against him. “Just wait.”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, maybe it wasn’t, all Seth knows is that he is suddenly very annoyed with Dean and needs some air before he is talked into staying here and watching boring old movies all night while Dean hammers away on this heist without Seth helping in any way. 

That was not his idea of a fun Friday night.

So he opens the door and slips out, assuring Dean that he’d be back and to not wait up. He half expects him to follow in all his naked glory, but when the door clicks closed behind him, he’s left wondering why Dean is so intent on making this heist one to remember?

A couple hours later and he finds himself drinking alone in one of those touristy dive bars people go to when they want that seedy sort of environment without any actual danger; the kind with terrible memorabilia on the walls, a drink list with horrible sounding local names, and a bartender that feigned enough disinterest to make him relatable. Three Jack and Cokes in and the decor didn’t really matter anymore anyway. 

He wasn’t expecting to feel a hand on his shoulder. “Really, Seth?”

Dean sides onto the stool looking like sex on legs with that tight tee shirt that Seth bought him - his favorite - and those jeans slung low on his hips, and that smirk that had him shuddering before he could stop himself. 

“Of all the swanky bars and clubs in this city, this is where I find you?” Dean laughs.

He shrugs. “Seemed as good a place as any.”

The bartender stops by and Dean orders another Jack and Coke for Seth and a Miller Lite for himself and Seth chuckles to himself. Even his drink choice is so very Dean, cheap American beer. He waits for the drinks before speaking to Seth again. “I owe you an apology.”

Seth is watching him look everywhere but at him. He knows that this sort of thing isn’t exactly easy for Dean, and it’s not like it was that big a deal in the first place. He was just bored, feeling neglected, unwanted. He knows this heist is important to Dean, he knows he’ll bring Seth in when he’s figured out the best plan of action and let him have his say, he knows Dean will be perfect and beautiful and everything that ever made him happy when he’s got that gun in his hand and that look on his face that sends all the blood from Seth's brain to his dick, he knows Dean didn’t mean to annoy him. 

“It’s ok.” Seth says and scoots his stool closer to his lover, making sure they were as close as they could physically be without actually climbing into Dean’s lap - though the thought crossed his mind. The hand on his thigh and that million dollar grin he got was enough for all to be forgotten. Besides, this is what he had wanted anyway, a night out with Dean, and here they were...out. Yet all Seth could think about right now was getting back to the hotel room. 

“Besides, You can make it up to me.” He continues with a mischievous smirk and Dean arches a curious eyebrow. “I mean, we still have those handcuffs.”

Dean takes a long drink from his beer and Seth knows he has him. “If I didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re trying to take advantage of me.”

“A few more of these drinks and i’ll gladly let you take advantage of anything you want.”

\---

Roman knows that releasing the photo of the tattoo would bring him one step closer to catching these two sons of bitches, but the threat of driving them into hiding was a real one. That didn’t feel like their style, though. From what little profile he could put together on them, Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins love the spotlight, love the attention, and Roman has just put the focus right on them. He had a feeling that it wouldn't drive them into hiding, but out of it. There had been report after report of that tattoo being spotted from here to California and almost nothing came up as credible. 

Except one. 

A hotel clerk in some small town in Iowa says she spotted someone with that tattoo check into the hotel with another man, but they only stayed a few hours before they left without checking out. Suspicious in its own right until Roman discovers that the hotel in question is located across the street from The First National Bank of Iowa. 

Which is why he was now sitting in his business class airplane seat on the way to the middle of nowhere with his laptop open and an apprehensive knot in his stomach. Normally he wouldn't even try to follow up on something like this, having hit so many dead ends in the past, but this could be his chance. He’d already contacted local authorities and had them on standby with orders to lay low. Last thing he needed was for them to get spooked and run, leaving him back at square one.

His computer let out a small ding when he received an email from Charlotte and he opens it. 

_Roman,_   
_I’ve run the names in the hotel ledger through our database system and came up with something I think you’ll be interested in. Looks like I found mistake number 2. John Good and Colby Lopez, known aliases Jon Moxley and Tyler Black. Looks like this is our boys._   
_Check page 13. You can thank me later._   
_\- C_

There were two attachments and he clicks them open. Two arrest records for the named individuals stare back at him. He clicks through the pages one at a time, starting with John Good: assault and battery, theft, grand theft auto, breaking and entering, public drunkenness, assault with a deadly weapon, manslaughter. The list went on and on, with the other’s not much different. But when he gets to page 13, he grins. ‘Tattoos and markings’ and there it is on the inside of Colby Lopez’s wrist. The tattoo. 

It's them. 

He's got’em.


	5. Chapter 5

Roman was so happy to be back on solid ground. Not the best flyer on a good day, this one seemed to really get to him. Maybe it was because of where he was going, what he was going to do, the anticipation of it all just adding to the anxiety and stress. 

Yeah, that's what it was. 

Stress. 

Stress and lack of a decent nights sleep for the last six months thanks to Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins. He would be so happy when these two were behind bars where they belonged that he toyed with the idea of taking a much needed vacation. 

He was met by a local detective when he crossed into town, a man named Kevin Owens whom he'd talked to prior to leaving D.C.. He was a larger man, not really what Roman expected, but definitely had that air about him like he wasn't someone you fucked with, a hard earned glare he'd seen in veteran agents even though Owens couldn't be much older than he was. He definitely had a hardness about him and Roman wondered if he would still have that if he weren't in street clothes like requested; Jeans and a wrestling tee shirt. 

“Agent Reigns?” He holds out a hand and Roman takes it, shaking it once. “Hope you're flight was alright.”

“Not really.” Roman says with a laugh, but Owens is stone faced and he stops, chasing it away with a dismissive cough. “Have there been any more reports since we spoke last?”

“None.” Owens says and motions for Roman to get into the pick-up truck he'd been leaning on. It must have been his own personal car if the junk in the back seat and cups of old coffee filling every cup holder were any indication. It worked for Owens; seemed very _him_ , even if Roman had just met the man. “I received the emails with their photos and sent them to our officers on the ground, but nothing has turned up yet.”

That was disappointing. Though, it wasn't like he expected any different. If agents of the FBI couldn't catch these two with all the tools at their disposal, how were local PD supposed to? 

“I've got everything you asked for back at the station.” Owens continues and starts the engine, shifting into gear and pulling out onto the street. “Though, I don't see how they'd still be stupid enough to hit that bank.”

Roman slips on his sunglasses and shifts down into the seat, taking a much needed breath. “You don't know them like I do.”

And that were partially true. He had limited knowledge of these two up until this point, but he knew they were, above everything else, ego driven and wouldn't stop just because they released a partial photo of a tattoo. He was banking on it, actually; a way to really stick it to the Feds would be to hit that bank right under their noses as a big ol’ fuck you. 

“Is there a coffee shop in this town we can stop at?” 

Owens shakes his head and chuckles as if Roman had just insulted him. “I know we ain't DC, Agent, but we do have a Starbucks. It came in right after we got our first streetlight.”

Roman wasn't the best at reading sarcasm, but that was pretty blatant.

\---

Seth woke up with a headache. 

Not that it was surprising, after Dean showed up last night they ended up bar hopping until four in the morning, of which he only remembers bits and pieces anyway. That might not have been the best of ideas considering the circumstances, but he wouldn't have changed anything about it. Mainly because his left arm was still handcuffed to the headboard of this crappy little hotel room and Dean was naked as the day he was born, snoring like a wood chipper with his head on his chest. 

“Dean…” he groans. His head felt like it was in a vice, his wrist and shoulder ached, and his mouth tasted like cum and death. All things considered, it wasn't the worst way he'd ever woken up with Dean. 

Dean didn't move, out like a light. So Seth nudged him with his knee. “Dean, I need the handcuff key.” 

“Mmm…” was the only response he got and Dean shifted to lay more of his body on top of him, a leg now thrown over his waist as he pulls Seth closer. 

And he smiles. He would stay like this forever if he could, just cuddled close together like they didn't have a care in the world. He could die happy in Dean's arms, no question. But right now, his wrist was sore and he had to pee, so he shoved at Dean harder and this time his head snaps up to look bleary eyed at Seth, a line of drool still glistening on his chin. “Wha-? What's the matter?”

“Handcuff key?”

“Nightstand next to you.” Dean says and smiles, kisses at Seths chest in his half awake state. “But I like waking up to you handcuffed to the bed.”

Tempting though it was with Dean nipping at his skin like he was, he really needed to get up and move. He found the key easily and released himself and Dean groaned when Seth slips out of his grasp with a smile. A quick piss and some Tylenol downed with mouthwash and he was beginning to feel a bit more like a human being. 

When he came back into the room, Dean is back to snoring, wrapped up in the sheets like a burrito and Seth jumps on him, kissing his temple. “I'm going to get coffee.” He says to the lump in the bed. 

“Black. 2 sugars.” Dean says back, muffled by the pillows. 

Seth chuckles and kisses the side of his mouth. Like he didn't already know Dean's coffee order. He dresses quickly, ties his longer hair into a low bun, and grabs his jacket. 

The Starbucks is only a short walk down the block and the crisp morning air does wonders to drive away what remained of his hangover. Fall in Iowa wasn't so bad; the leaves were just starting to turn colors, the smell of pumpkin spice everything was wafting on the cool breeze, and Halloween decorations were dotting every storefront. Not that he had any desire to stay here, but he let his mind wander. 

What would it be like if they settled down somewhere like this? Domestication sometimes sounded like an interesting concept, but he couldn't see dean giving out candy from the front stoop of their townhouse. But the visual image would surely be something to see. He'd hate it, of course, but Seth wouldn't mind to one day be that person. _When we finally get our beach_ he thinks. 

The smell of coffee hit him before he saw the familiar green and white facade that was every Starbucks ever, but he didn't cross the street to get to it. 

He froze in his tracks, motionless as he watched two men climbing out of a pickup truck. The larger of the two he didn't recognize, but that mane of black hair and exotic looks was unmistakable. 

Agent Reigns. 

What the fuck was he doing here? He shouldn't be here at all! But there he was, walking into the overpriced coffee shop like he owned the place. He was bigger in person, more impressive than he had been on television. Maybe it was because he wasn't wearing a suit, but jeans and a black Henley thermal, that made him seem different. 

Dean was not going to be happy. 

Or he would be.

Seth wasn't sure. All he knew was that he had to get back to their hotel room, so he turned on his heels and started walking back the way he had come. He wanted to run as fast as he could, but that would do nothing but draw suspicion his way and that's the last thing he needed. He waited until he was out of sight to sprint back to their room.

He threw open the door and Dean damn near jumped off the mattress. “What the fuck!?”

“Dean! We gotta go!” He was already grabbing his duffle bag before he even finished speaking. 

But dean wasn't moving, he was staring at seth like he had finally snapped. “What happened?” When Seth didn't answer, he was out of bed and grabbing him by the shoulders to make him look at him. “Hey, calm down! What happened?”

“Reigns.” Seth muttered. “He’s here, at the Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Did I fucking stutter, Dean?” He damn near shouts. “Agent Reigns is getting his fucking coffee at the goddamn Starbucks! We have to go!”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dean says and takes the bag from Seth's hand. “We’re hitting that bank. Today.”

He’s angry now, and he knows Dean knows it, but he gently guides Seth to the bed and sits him down before he crouches in front of him and places strong, reassuring hands on his thighs. 

“Think about it, Seth.” he begins, squeezing gently, his voice even but stern. “We can hit that bank right under his nose.” 

And his hands are sliding up to Seth's waist, thumbs slipping under his shirt to gently rub the skin just above his belt line. “We can really stick it to them, show ‘em we won't be caught. Show them we’re _untouchable_.”

He's up now, mouth gliding along the sensitive skin of Seth's neck and all that anger starts to melt away with the shudder that ripples through him. Dean pushes him back until he’s hovering over him “I want you at my side, Seth. I love you.”

“Dean…” he breathes, still cautious but the way hands are sliding along his skin has him agreeing. Dean smiles and whatever shred of doubt he had before disappears with those dimples. 

“You're so fucking sexy with a gun in your hand.” He rasps and it goes right to Seth's groin. “Now, take your pants off so I can take care of you.”

He didn't have to tell him twice.


	6. Chapter 6

“How the _FUCK_ did they get past us?” Roman screams at Owens. He's frustrated, angry, and more than a little embarrassed that the First National Bank of Iowa was robbed right under their noses. All the precautions, all the planning and surveillance, meant absolutely dick. Two people were killed, one guard is in the hospital with severe wounds that, thankfully, weren't life threatening, and these two little assholes made of with more than $300,000 dollars in cash and safety deposit boxes, all without the police even realizing until the security guard stumbled into the street a bleeding mess. 

Owens sighs because, quite frankly, Roman has been screaming about this for an hour now and he knows the detective has to be fed up. “Agent, maybe you should calm down and take a breath.”

“Calm do- _CALM DOWN!?_ ”

“Yeah! Calm the fuck down!” Owens screams back at him. Apparently, Roman had found his breaking point. “We made a mistake somewhere, that's all.”

“A mistake?” He fumes, teeth clenched tight. “Do you realize it's taken six months of nothing to even come _close_ to this point? _Six months_ detective. Now I'm back to square one because we couldn't get our act together!”

“Yeah, but six months ago you didn't have the tattoo, or mugshots!” Owens yells, still not backing down from the 260 pound, seething, Samoan. Had to give him some credit there. “Release the mugshots. The more eyes on them, the better. Tattoos can be hidden, it's harder for faces.”

“If I release those pictures, it could drive them into hiding.” Roman breaths and finally sits down in the guest chair of the detective's office. “Anyone with a shred of common sense wouldn't be stupid enough to continue these hits after that.”

Kevin sits as well and observes Roman with a quiet air of disdain. “Do they really seem like the type with any common sense?”

“No.” he says and scrubs his fingers over his eyes. He's just so tired. “Fuck, they're probably halfway to the next state by now.”

“I've got men covering the roads.” Owens offers, maybe just to appease him, and Roman nods. That was a start, though probably useless. They were gone and all he could do was wait for them to hit the next bank. 

He needs to talk to that security guard. Owens had already taken a statement from him, but Roman needed to talk to him himself. A nurse led him to the poor man's room and he thanked her. The poor man lying in the bed was surprisingly young, but looked so much older with that traumatized look his his eyes. He was looking out the window when Roman approached, a bloodied bandage covering his bare chest. 

“Mr. Zayn?” He says carefully, trying to keep his voice soft and free of any of that edge he was certainly feeling. “I’m Agent Reigns with the FBI.” He holds up his ID as proof. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

The security guard nods. “It’s Sami.” 

Roman pulls a seat next to the hospital bed and offers the poor man a small smile that he hoped was friendly. “Ok, Sami, what can you tell me about the robbery?”

Sami tenses and draws in a shaken breath. “I’ve only just started working there.” He says. “It was just a job to help pay for wrestling school and I didn't really think to hard about it. It's a small town. I saw the report on the news, but who really thinks that sort of shit would happen to them? 

I was covering for Bill, he had a doctors appointment this morning and I could use the extra cash. Next thing I know, there's a gun pressed to the back of my head. It was all a blur after that, really. I opened the safe for them and they filled up some duffle bags. One of the tellers got brave and tried to sneak a phone call…”

He pauses at the memory, eyes staring off at nothing. “They shot her and the man next to her. Then they moved everyone into the vault and made me lock it. All I remember after that was being hit in the back of the head and coming too with my chest bleeding.”

Roman took all the information in. “Do you remember anything else about them?”

Sami shook his head. “One had this really raspy voice. He was definitely the one running the show. The other seemed like he was getting off on it, really sick shit.”

“Did they mention anything about where they might be going next?”

“No,” Sami says. “But they did mention your name.”

That made Romans ears perk up. “My name?”

“Yeah, something like, ‘That Agent Reigns will never see this coming.’”

He'd have to file that away for the moment. “Do you mind if I see your chest?” 

Sami shook his head and Roman called for a nurse. She gently peeled away the bandages, offering small words of reassurance when Sami would hiss or whimper in pain. He felt his fists tightening at his side when he saw the ugly cuts on the poor mans chest. 

_Catch us if you can_

\---

The adrenaline was still pumping in his ears as Dean sped down the highway leading out of Iowa. They had done it, right under the feds’ noses, with them none the wiser. Shit, he was so horney right now, especially with the way Dean was beaming in the driver's seat of a stolen SUV. They way he carved into that security guard, his “calling card”, was so hot Seth almost fucked him right then and there. 

“We did it, babe!” Dean laughs, excited and still on that high he always had after a successful hit. “Right in front of their goddamn face! We're fucking invincible!”

“”Fuck, that was fun.” He breaths and tries to adjust the growing hard-on in his pants. “You're a sadistic son on a bitch, but, fuck, it's sexy.”

Dean eyes him with that smirk that just does things to him. “Yeah? Tell me how sexy.”

Seth sees where this is going and a shudder ripples up his spine and back down. He slinks up next to dean as close as he could get and bites at his earlobe. His voice is heavy with lust when he whispers in his ear, “So sexy I could have sucked you off in the middle of that bank.”

He feels a shudder pass just under Dean's skin and his foot pressed harder onto the gas pedal. His hand snakes it's way across Deans abs and down to his jeans where he can feel the strain of his lovers own erection pressing against the zipper and he smirks. Without saying a word, nimble fingers unbuckled Deans belt and unzipped his jeans before dipping inside and pulling him free. 

“Take yourself out.” Dean breaths, panting already and Seth hadn't even done anything yet. “I wanna see you.” 

He does and strokes himself a few time, smiling at the broken groans he's getting in return. 

“Fuck, Seth…” and he reaches out a hand to wrap around Seth's dick while the other steers the car now going 80 mph down the highway. Seth couldn't care less when nimble fingers move up and back, twisting just right, squeezing tight enough to have him gripping the door handle to brace himself. “You like this?”

He really can't form words right now other than “fuck” and “oh god” so he just lets Dean continue to work on him. He can see he's just as hard, cock flushed and red and waiting for attention, but he seems more determined to get Seth off first. Seths a moaning mess when the car hits 85 mph and is coming in Dean's hand at 90. 

He wastes little time moving under Dean's arm to get his mouth on him as the car speeds faster and faster. One hand on the steering wheel and the other in seths hair is probably one of the sexiest visions Seth's ever had of Dean, his fingers kneading his scalp, pulling on the strands to get him where he wanted him. 

95 mph

100 mph

105 mph

And Dean comes deep into Seth's throat, crying out and gripping his hair so tight it was almost painful. He's leaning back in the seat when Seth pulls himself off, chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes tried to refocus on the road. He loved when he could make Dean look like that, so well fucked that he could barely see straight. 

He knows he's grinning triumphantly when dean finally gets his senses back and looks at him. “That was amazing.”

“You're amazing.”

“Next hotel you pass,” Seth says and squeezes Dean's thigh. “We should probably stop.”

“Why?”

“So you can fuck my brains out.”

Yeah, that's the look he was hoping for.


	7. Chapter 7

They'd stopped at one of those little no-tell motels off the side of the highway, the kind that don't ask questions and take payments by the hour. The man at the front desk didn't even bat an eyelash when he handed the key to Dean, Seth hanging all over him and mouthing at his neck just to make him as desperate as possible because a desperate Dean was the best kind of lay he has ever had. He'd told him to fuck his brains out, and the man must have taken it as a personal challenge because that's exactly what he did, with enthusiasm, in every corner of the room. 

When they were finally lying in their own mess, exhausted and sore, arms wrapped around each other to soothe away the rough bites and scratch marks, Seth felt at home. He was happy. Dean made him happy. But something was clawing at the back of his mind. Despite how fun and exciting their lives had been to this point, this last hit was close. So close that Seth found himself wondering more than once if they should stop. 

“Dean?” 

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember that beach we were gonna buy?”

“Yeah.” He yawns and pulls Seth closer to him with a contented little smile on his face. “We’ll get there someday.”

“Why not now?”

When he leans his head up, Dean is looking at him with a face he couldn't quite read. Maybe he was surprised that Seth had brought it up, maybe not. Hell, maybe he felt the same way, unlikely as that was. 

“Are you saying you wanna stop?”

He props himself up on his elbows. “I don't know, maybe. It's not like we don't have enough money.”

“I thought you liked doing this?” He asks and starts toying with a strand of Seth's hair. It's cute, endearing, sweet, very unlike Dean. 

“I do.” He says, and means it. “But this whole thing with that stupid FBI agent has me thinking that maybe it's time, at least for a little while. Taunting him is only going to make him more determined.”

Dean turns on his side and pulls Seth next to him, holding him close, looking right in his eyes. “All you have to do is say the word. You know that, right?”

Seth is searching his eyes for something, maybe a hidden lie that he would expect because if it were that easy, why hadn't they done it before? There is nothing but an adoration there that he'd never seen before because maybe he'd been so busy feeling that way for Dean he hadn't paid enough attention. 

“Seth, I love you.” He says and kisses the tip of his nose. “I would kill anyone for you, I would topple governments and climb mountains, I would follow you into hell itself if you asked. If you want to hang this up and move on, then that's what we'll do.”

“Why haven't you ever said that before?”

Dean gives him one of those million dollar smiles, the ones that always makes his heart skip a beat. “You never asked.”

“Then why can't we go to Cincinnati?” He asks, knowing by how Dean's face changed that he had hit a sore subject. But he needed to know before they hightailed it to Mexico to start this new sedentary life together because if Dean would follow him into hell - like he said he would - then why wouldn't he go to Cincinnati when Seth asked over and over. “I want the truth, Dean. Tell me why and I'll drop it.”

Dean rolls over out of Seth's arms and climbs out of bed before pads to the bathroom without a word, closes the door and turns the shower on. Seth feels like he's screwed up, scrubs a hand down his face and shakes his head. “Fuck.”

It's not like Dean is even yelling at him, which, at this point, would feel better than this silent anger. And he knows Dean is angry. Cincinnati is such a sensitive subject for Dean and he knows picking at a scab like that does nothing but open old wounds that have hurt the man he loves. But something in his past was so terrible that it's scarred him, broke him, made him turn away and refuse to return to that one, particular city. It's not like Seth is asking to move there, he just wants to see it. Dean has seen his hometown - at least through the driver's side window - why couldn't they see his? 

Seth was sitting up with his arms resting on his knees when Dean opens the bathroom door, a towel slung low on his waist, skin wet and hair dripping rivulets of water onto his bare chest. It was, in a word, hot, but this wasn't the time to think about licking those droplets off his skin. He wouldn't look at Seth, instead busying himself with finding his clothes and dressing. 

“Dean…” Seth tries and is resolutely ignored. He hates this, hates that Dean is acting like he isn't even there. “Please, talk to me.”

“Get dressed.” Is all he says, grabs his jacket, and heads to the door without so much as looking at him. “I'll be in the car.”

The slamming of the door makes him jump. Yeah, he fucked up.

He showers quick and dresses even quicker, braces for the inevitable fight that's about to happen because Dean may be a hurricane on two legs, but hurricanes are a destructive and angry force. So is Dean when he wants to be. All Seth can really do is hunker down and brace for impact. 

Dean is just staring out the front windows, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white when Seth slips into the passenger seat. He hadn't even started the car yet. 

“Dean, I'm sorry.” He tries, sure that's what will set Dean off. When it doesn't and he's still just staring at nothing, Seth tries again. “Dean. I said, I'm sorry. We don't have to go to Cincinnati.”

“My mother.” Dean says after a long pause where his grip tightens and his shoulders tense. 

But Seth is confused, it was such a random thing to say. “Your mother?”

“You wanted the truth about Cincinnati.” He says and finally looks at Seth, eyes glassy with unshed tears that he will deny for the rest of his life even though Seth didn't care if Dean cried. “I don't want to go back because my mother still lives there.”

Dean took a deep breath before he told Seth exactly what she had done to him, how her coked out boyfriends used to hit him until he could barely move; how she would just sit back in her drugged out haze and watch as they sexually assaulted him; how he tried to kill her with rat poison in her morning needle and how she chained him in the basement for days when she found out; how they used to hold him down and shoot heroin into his arm just to see what would happen. 

“Thanks to them I got addicted. I left that hellhole when I was 18 and vowed never to look back. When I met you I was 6 months clean because I knew I didn't want to be like _her_. Funny thing is, now I'm a bank robber and still so much better that she will ever be. That's why we can't go to Cincinnati, Seth. I will follow you anywhere, just not there.”

“It's ok.” Seth says and wipes away an errant tear that escaped before he takes Dean's hand and kisses the knuckle. “I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have pushed if I'd-”

He's cut off when Dean gently cups his cheek and guides their lips together in a kiss so loving it fills Seth's heart. “Let's just get out of here, ok?”

Seth nods and Dean kisses him again before he starts the engine and shifts into gear. 

“So.” He says after a beat, the old Dean glinting in those blue eyes makes Seth grin. “How many banks can we hit on our way to Mexico?”

“As many as you want.” Seth answers and means it, their last hoorah before they settle down on a beach, a drink in his hand and Dean by his side, filthy rich and together.

Who could ask for a happier ending?


	8. Chapter 8

“Iowa, two in Missouri, one in Oklahoma.” Roman says and traces his finger down the line he’d drawn on the map in his office in DC. Charlotte sits in his chair and watches him. “They're heading south. Odds are Texas will be hit next.”

“They're heading to Mexico.” She says and Roman nods back at her. 

“Problem is, the border between Texas and Mexico is pretty big. If they cross it, this whole thing would have been for nothing. All the people they killed, injured, terrorized, and all the money stolen would go by the wayside.”

Charlotte taps her foot against the desk, obviously taking in what was just said. “We'd have to cover every border crossing. But then we'd also have to know what day they were planning. Releasing those mugshots gave us no leads?”

He shook his head. “No. And they stopped wearing masks. They're taunting us now.” 

“They were taunting us before.” She points out and Roman sighs because she is right. 

“REIGNS!” 

His shoulders tensed when his boss yelled his name across the office. When he turns, Director Foley was staring at him from the doorway of his office. 

“My office, _now_!”

He gives Charlotte a nervous little nod and she smirked at him before he heads to the director's office. 

“Close the door behind you.” Foley says when he sits behind his desk and Roman complies and waits until he's directed to sit. 

He's always struck by how much Director Foley doesn't look like he belongs in the strict, uniform world of the FBI. His beard and hair are far too long and scraggly, brushing his shoulders and chest when he moves his head, he wore cheesy Christmas ties everyday, regardless of the time of year, and he had this soft spot for theme parks that many in the bureau found weird. But Director Foley was a good man, a fair man, and Roman liked him...provided he stayed on his good side. He'd seen the man fly off the handle before with complete and utter disregard for any object not nailed down around him. Right now, based on the look he was being given, Roman was seriously considering taking the stapler sitting in front of him.

“Do you know why I called you in here, Roman?” He says, soft and even. Not the best of signs that he called Roman by his first name, though. “I read your update report on the Rollins/Ambrose situation and, quite frankly, I have some concerns.”

“Sir, I'd like to first and foremost say that-”

“Shut up, Reigns. I wasn't finished.” The director interrupts and Roman clamps his mouth shut and slumps a little in his chair. “The fact that these two have been running amok for this long has me thinking that I may have severely overestimated your abilities. You were supposed to be the best of the best! That's why I hand picked you for this assignment. They robbed a bank, killed two innocent civilians, and carved a message into a young man's chest right under your nose. Yet, despite your best efforts, they're still out there and headed for Mexico. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Roman clears his throat in an effort to push aside his anxiety. “Sir, I underestimated Ambrose and Rollins. I wasn't prepared for the extent of the lengths they were willing to go.”

“You're damn right you underestimated them!” Director Foley snaps and jumps to his feet, glaring down at Roman with that look that was mere seconds from explosion.

Roman shifts under the scrutiny, trying to keep a clear head even though he was getting chewed out by his boss. “Sir, with all due respect, they aren't like normal bank robbers.”

“I don't care! This should have been handled months ago, Agent!” The director just stares at him, challenging a response to that. When Roman doesn't give him one, he sits back down at his desk, takes a deep breath, straightens his Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer tie, and looks more calmly at him before speaking in a strict, but far less angry tone. “Do I need to remind you of the implications if they make it across the border? How that will make you and the FBI look?”

Roman swallows hard. “No, sir.”

“Good.” He says and waves at Roman to get out of his sight. Before he can leave the office though, the director calls after him again. “If they make it to Mexico, don't bother coming back to work.”

Roman clenches his jaw, but nods his understanding. He had to catch them before they crossed that border. His job depended on it.

\---

“I miss a real bed.” Dean says and shifts in the truck bed of the pick-up he'd stolen when they crossed into Texas. He wraps an arm around Seth and he melts into the warmth of him, letting Dean kiss at his neck in the small space. 

They had pulled into a secluded part of wherever they were to rest for the night. After their mugshots were released to the media, it was far to dangerous to stay in hotels and Seth curses that Agent Reigns for the permanent crick in his back because of it. But he had to say, looking up at the great expanse of sky, the stars shining bright and big in the nothingness, and the warmth of Dean next to him was a pretty fair trade off. He hums when Dean's hand begins to travel south to his belt and slips under the top of his jeans. 

“Dean?” he breathes. 

“Yeah, baby?” He says and nips at Seth's ear, fingers now mere centimeters from the mark. 

“What's the plan here?” He asks and Dean stops, looks at him.

A lustful smirk spreads and Dean shifts to hover over Seth. “Right now, the plan is to make you scream my name.”

He pushes Dean back when he starts mouthing at his jawline, his kisses burning as he gets more aggressive. But he grins up at the man over him, matching his intenseness. “You know what I mean. Are we hitting one last bank?” He runs his hands down deans chest and comes to rest by slipping his fingers under the hem of his t-shirt. “I want to see you do it, one last time. One for the spank bank, if you know what I mean.”

“No need for the spank bank, darlin’.” Dean drawls and crashed his mouth into Seth's, his tongue slips in and explores. When he pulls back, Seth is breathless and Dean is grinning down at him. “We’ll have one last hoorah when we get to El Paso.” 

He kisses down Seth's neck to his chest and slips his shirt up to get his hands on bare skin. “Then we’ll hightail it to the border.” 

He bites a mark on his ribs and kisses away the burn when Seth gasps. “We’ll find the bluest water we can with beaches so white they're blinding.” 

His tongue trails down his abs and he kisses just below his belly button. Nimble fingers undo his belt and unbutton his jeans and shimmies them down his thighs to free seth, already so hard at the rasped words and complete control Dean had over him with just a few touches. He takes Seth's dick and strokes it a few times, grinning when Seth moans out his name. “We’ll live fat and happy, together.”

Seth gets lost in the thought of that happy ending with Dean when lips wrap around him, strong hands hold his hips still, tongue works around him in just that way Seth likes. 

He liked that idea. Living out the rest of their days fat and happy.

Together.


	9. Chapter 9

El Paso, Texas. It’s a nice place with mountains overlooking a robust and lively city. Seth even thinks that this would be a nice place to settle down, had they had a choice to stay in the US. But, nothing compared to the thought of having that Beach, the one with white sands and blue water, just like Dean described. He even found himself fantasizing about it as he dozed off in the passenger seat while Dean drove.

It would always be warm, with palm trees swaying in the breeze that came off the ocean and each night they’d be lulled to sleep to the sound of the waves crashing. He could see Dean kayaking or snorkeling or fishing in that crystal blue water while he sat on the porch of their home watching him. He’d have a huge hammock strung between two large trees where he and Dean could lay and watch the sky. Maybe they’d get a few dogs. He would like that, running and playing in the sand with them. Neither of them would have any more worries or cares in the world but each other and the life they had fought, stolen, and killed for. It would be paradise.

“We’re gonna stop here for the night.” Dean says, drawing Seth out of his fantasy and back to the reality that they were so close to making that fantasy real. 

When he looks around, he’s a little surprised that Dean has stopped at a motel, if you could call it that. It looked more like a run down old place that you’d see in some horror movie where everyone gets murdered in creative and disturbing ways. “Here? Really? Dean, this has ‘serial killer’ written all over it.”

“Look at this place.” Dean sweeps his hand towards the building and a shutter falls off one of the rooms as if on cue. “You really think they’ll ask questions? I don't want to sleep in the truck bed again. It’s only for a few nights. Besides, we _are_ killers, Seth.”

He had a point, but that didn’t mean Seth was happy about it. He waited in the truck while Dean went into the office. When he came back with the key, they unloaded their stuff, including weapons at Seth's insistence, and found their room. When Dean opens the door, the smell of old cigarettes, piss, and something he really hoped wasn't a rotting corpse hit them. Seth glares hard at Dean, who only shrugs. “It's just a few nights.” He repeats and turns on the light.

The inside matched the outside, grimey and rundown, so dirty that Seth seriously considered sleeping in the truck. 

“If I catch any diseases, I'm blaming you.” He says to Dean and drops his bag on the small dinette chair that collapses under the weight of it. “I'm going to have to bathe in Bleach after this.”

Dean laughs and sits on the large bed that squeaks under him. “Stop being such a drama queen. We've stayed in worse places.”

“Name one.”

Dean thinks a moment. “What about that joint in New Orleans? Remember that place? You woke up with three cockroaches on your chest and there was some weird liquid leaking down the wall.”

Seth sighed and sat next to him, the bed squeaking loudly again. “The only thing that would make this worse is if someone was having extremely loud sex in the next room.”

As if the cosmic gods heard him, the sound of rhythmic squeaking and banging could be heard coming from the next room, followed immediately by male and female moaning and screaming. 

_Oh god, baby! Right there!_

_Harder!_

_Fuck me! Fuck me!_

And again Seth was glaring angrily at Dean who was laughing his head off. When he finally got a handle on it, he looks over at Seth and nods toward the wall. “Think we can give ‘em a run for their money?”

A smile creeps across his face before he can stop it and he pushes Dean back, letting the bed squeak with the shift of weight before he straddles his waist and leans in to kiss him hard and rough, making sure to bite his lower lip to draw the most amazing groan out of him. 

“Don't hold back, baby.” He purrs and plants Dean's hands over his head and holds them there. “Lets show them how it's really done.”

\--

“Roman?” 

He lifts he head to find the receptionist, Bayley, a sweet woman who liked to hug people on their birthday, looking at him from her desk. 

“You have a phone call on line 3.” She says. “They said they've been trying to get a hold of you for an hour, but no one is answering.”

“What's it about?” He asks, not really in the mood to talk with anyone about bureau bullshit at the moment.

“Those bank robbers.” She answers. 

He brushes her off and goes back to what he's doing. “Tell them to call the tip line, that's what it's there for.”

“They did.” She says. “The tip line forwarded them here.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. Put them through.”

He picks the phone up after the second ring. “Agent Reigns.”

 _”H-hello, sir, I have some info on them bank robbers you've been on the news talkin’bout.”_ Says a man, a heavy southern drawl to a voice so gravely Roman wondered if there was something wrong with the phone. _“I-I just gots a question though.”_

Roman pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to take this seriously. “What's your question?”

_“Is there some sort o’ reward if y’all catch ‘em?”_

“That depends.” Roman answers, trying desperately to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

_“Oh. Well, see, I run a motel here in El Paso, been strugglin’ fer a while now, and I'm pretty dang sure your boys just rented a room and a reward sure would help plenty.”_

“El Paso?” Roman says and grabs his map. El Paso Texas was right on the Mexican border. If this tip was credible, that's where they were crossing. He hadn't released any information on the possibility of their destination to the public, so this could be it! “Sir, are they still there?”

_“Yes, they are. Been doing nothin’ but screwing like rodents in there for the last 3 hours. Not that I'm judgin’! I wish I still had that sorta stamina, yah know?”_

“You need to call me the second they leave, if they look like they're coming back, if anything out of the ordinary happens.” Roman rattles off his cellphone number and listens as the man repeats it. “Act normal until we get there, ok?”

_“Yes, sir. But, uh, that reward?”_

“If we catch them, we can definitely work something out.”

He hangs up the phone after thanking them man and immediately grabs his jacket. “Charlotte!”

She's looking at him from her desk when he running toward her. “What's the matter?”

“Were going to Texas.” He says. “Get a team ready to block all border crossings into Mexico from El Paso, make sure they're armed. We've got’em!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry. 
> 
> Look for the epilogue coming soon.
> 
> *trigger warning: please read the tags*

“Here's the plan.” Roman says to a group of about 6 individuals who he assigned to his team in Texas, many of which were from the Dallas branch of the FBI. They were young, competent, and looking to prove themselves as viable field agents. He remembered being that ambitious, and felt a pang of nostalgia at the way all eyes watch him speak. “My contact at the motel has informed me that the individuals known publically as Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins are still holed up in their room. We will surround the exits and make sure they don't get to a vehicle. I'm hoping this is a simple snatch and grab without incident, but it should be noted that they _are_ armed and they _are_ extremely dangerous. Think of them as cornered animals, ladies and gentleman, they will strike if provoked and were about to poke them with a stick.”

They were about a mile away from the motel, their place of operations, so to speak, a church basement. Strangely ironic, but he pushes that aside. He pauses and looks around at each individual's face for confirmation of their understanding. No one seemed like they didn't get was about to happen, but he still asks if there are any questions. 

A young man in the back, who's name Roman learned earlier was Apollo, raises his hand. “What is the plan should they get past us, sir?” 

“Pursue.” Roman answers. “We will need to bottleneck them to go the direction we want them, because odds are they will make a break for the border. Agent Charlotte Flair and her team have blocked the most likely area of crossing, so that's where we'll lead them if we can. Hopefully, it won't come to that, but we will need to be ready for that eventuality.”

He asks for any other questions and when he gets none, he dismisses everyone with a “Good luck.”

Roman climbs into the lead car and takes a anxious breath. 

This was it.

\---

It had been a good night, and an even better morning, even in this shithole of a motel room. That's because he woke up in Dean's arms, being held so close while he gently rubbed absent circles on Seth's cheek. Anywhere he was with Dean was nothing short of heaven; be it a shitty motel room or a beach. As long as he had this man by his side, he could take on the world. And oh how they did, together. 

Seth kisses the tip of his nose and he smiles, shuffling himself closer to his lovers warmth. “Good Morning.”

Dean cracks an eye open and looks at Seth with a dreamy, half asleep expression that was nothing short of adorable. “Mornin’.”

“Guess we showed that couple a thing or two, huh?” Seth says and Dean laughs at the memory. They didn’t hold anything back, being as loud as they possibly could, which made the other couple get louder, which made Dean prop Seth up against the headboard and fuck into him hard and fast. It had been a competition as to who could be the most obnoxiously loud and, in the end, Dean and Seth were simply able to hold out longer. They collapsed into each other's arms as soon as they came and stayed like that until this very moment. In retrospect, waking up covered in dried come wasn't the most ideal of situations, but that meant a shower and, if he was lucky, that shower would be together. 

He places his hand on Dean's cheek and pulls him in for a soft, loving kiss, letting his lips linger close. When they part, Dean is giving his a strange sort of look. “What?”

“I really do love you, Seth.” he says after a beat. “I hope you know that. You are it for me.”

“I love you too, Dean.” he's a little worried that something may be wrong. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah. I just needed to say it.” and Dean kisses him, this one more passionate but no less loving. When he pulls away, he's looking down at Seth with such love it makes his heart swell. Then, “We should shower.”

“We should.”

Neither move to get out of bed. Instead, Dean shifts so he’s hovering over Seth and leans in to kiss him again. Mouth kisses graduate to bites and licks down his neck, which he melts into like he always does when Dean puts his lips to work on him. He's moving south, nipping at Seth's torso and chest. He knows where this is going and gets his hands in Dean's hair to guide him down further.

That's when he glances out the window.

That's when everything goes gloriously wrong.

“Dean?” 

“Hmm?” 

“There are 3 black suv’s outside.”

Deans head snaps up and he looks out the window. “Jesus Christ! We gotta move!”

Seth doesn't even question him because he doesn't have to. There, sitting in one of the cars with a bullet proof vest on, is Agent Reigns. The feds have found them. “What do we do, Dean?!”

Dean is already in his jeans and has slipped on his boots, pocketing a handgun and slipping on a t-shirt before he even answers. “Get a weapon! Get to the truck!”

Seth is dressed before he finishes that sentence, his own gun seated nicely in the back waistband of his jeans. “We can’t go out the front.” He points out. 

“The bathroom window.” Dean says and guides Seth in that direction, but before anything he grabs him by the waist and pulls him in for a bruising kiss. “We’ll make it to mexico. I promise.”

\---

Once the SUV was parked and the engine cut, All Roman can do for a good minute is stare at the door of the motel room where the men who have kept him up, night after night, day after day, were waiting unawares. Or, so he hoped. This was the culmination of a case that had stretched out far too long and over the entire United States. He was so close to the end he could taste it. So say he would be happy to see these two, who had left a path of death and destruction in their wake, would be an understatement. 

He signals to the agents in the other cars to begin formation around the door, and climbed out of the vehicle with his gun in hand. Though the goal was to take them alive, he wouldn't hesitate to take the shot, not after what they had done to innocent people. 

He approaches the door with a kind of apprehension he'd never quite felt before. Of all the criminals he's taken down - to include several serial killers - _this_ has proven to be his most difficult. Yet, here he was, so close to the finish line he could taste it. 

He signals a three count with his fingers. Three seconds to the ending of this hellish journey. 

Three seconds.

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

One of the agents kicks open the door and everyone floods in. Everything is happening so fast that it takes him a few dizzying seconds to realize that the room was empty save for some luggage and a rumpled bed. Then he hears Apollo yell at him from the bathroom. “They went out the window!!”

Roman turns and is out the door in a flash, just in time to hear the revving of the engine of a pickup off to the side. 

“GODDAMMIT!” He screams just as the truck s reaches out of the parking space. There in the drivers seat was Dean Ambrose, flipping him the bird as he sped past him.

Roman didn't hesitate, he lifted his gun and fired at the driver's side tire, misses and hits the door. 

“Everyone get to the vehicles!” He yells, watching as everyone scrambles to comply. Then he's on the radio, signaling to the other teams the the criminals known as Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins were in a pickup and headed their way. “Bottleneck them! Make sure they don't veer off course!”

He jumps into the driver's seat of his own SUV and peels off after them.

Not this time, goddammit. 

Not this time.

\---

“Dean! You're fucking bleeding!”

Seth can see it, he knows Dean's been hit, blood pouring over the fingers gripping the wound at his side. 

“I'm fine, Seth!” Dean grits back, obviously not as fine as he claimed to be. “It's just a flesh wound!”

“Let me see!” 

“No!” He yells back at him and presses his foot down on the accelerator as far as it would go. “You can look at it once we're over the border!”

What else could seth do but nod and hang on as dean maneuvered the vehicle through street after street at alarmingly high speeds. 

“Fuck!” He screamed as dean turned the wheel hard, a black SUV blocking the road, forcing a sharp left turn and again when another forced a sharp right. “They're blocking every fucking street!”

“I noticed!” Dean snaps, again turning the wheel hard, forcing him to get on the highway. The only consolation was that they were still headed in the right direction, toward the border. All they needed to do was cross, that was it. Just get over that line by any means necessary and they couldn't be touched. 

Dean hands Seth his handgun and tells him to start shooting at the SUV behind them. When he hesitates, Dean shoots him a stern, desperate look as if to say _our lives depend on it_.

And they very much did. 

He opens the window and sticks almost his entire upper body out, aiming at the black truck hot on their tail. “Its Reigns!” He yells over the wind rushing past his ears, hoping dean heard him. 

“Shoot the motherfucker!” He hears from the driver's seat and aims. 

One shot misses and fires wide when Dean has to cut the wheel again. His next shot hits the hood. The third breaks through the windshield and he sees Reigns duck out of the way. He's unsure if he hit him, but he keeps firing until the clip is empty. Then he takes his own gun from his back waistband and continues shooting. Finally a bullet connects and he sees Reigns grab his shoulder and cry out, but kept coming at them, undeterred. 

But he's out of bullets.

“That's it, I'm out.” He says when he slips back into his seat and looks at Dean in an a state of desperation. “What do we do?”

Dean is determined to make it over the border, he can see it in his eyes. They were so close, so incredibly close to that happy ending, and nothing was going to stop them. So Seth just hangs on while Dean steers. 

That's when the first bullets started hitting the back of the truck. “Fuck! They're shooting!” He cries and ducks his head best he can when one rips through the glass behind them, shattering it all over the pair. 

“Hold on, Seth!” Dean yells and presses his foot to the floor. He could see the border fence now rising out of the red Texas dirt like a beacon of hope. 

So close! 

But that wasn't all they saw.

Dean slammed on the brakes, sending the truck into a skid, kicking up dirt and gravel all around them. When they stopped, they were staring wide eyes at a line of black SUVs and cops cars, agents and uniformed police officers with guns and weapons at the ready. It wasn't like they could even turn around with agent Reigns and his team of black vehicles boxing them in. 

“Ambrose and Rollins,” a tall blond woman with a megaphone was calling to them. “Exit the vehicle with your hands in the air. You're surrounded.”

“What do we do?” Seth asks shakily, terrified. 

Dean has both hands on the wheel and just stares straight ahead for a long, drawn out second of tension Seth could cut with a knife. Then he looks at him and his heart breaks because there are genuine tears in his glassy blue eyes. “I'm so sorry.” He whispers. 

Seth shakes his head and grabs the back of Dean's neck to pull him in for a kiss, maybe even their last. But he knows one thing to absolutely true. “I'd rather die with you then be stuck in a cell somewhere. Drive.”

Dean is looking at him with an unreadable expression, maybe surprise, maybe admiration, definitely love, and kisses him again. “Together?”

“Together.”

Dean nods and holds out his hand to Seth, who takes it and squeezes. He lifts his foot from the brake and slams it into the gas pedal. There's a brief moment where they are nothing but spinning tires kicking gravel and dirt into the air, then the truck lurches forward and they're speeding toward the border. 

Then everything happens in a flash.

Bullets hit the front of the truck.

The windshield breaks.

Dean loses control.

They're spinning, then rolling.

Dirt.

Sand.

Screaming.

Then nothing. 

For what felt like a long time, that nothing hung in the air like the silence after a hurricane. Just absolute quiet. Then Seth is gasping, hyper aware of every nerve ending now flashing through him. He's alive. Like some miracle, he's alive! Had they made it? When he opens his eyes, he lying on his side on the inside roof of the truck that had come to a stop upside down. But he doesn't see Dean.

Then he does and his heart breaks into pieces. He's lying a few feet away, not moving. “Dean?”

He crawls out of the truck, ignoring the pain in his own body, and pulls himself toward the motionless body of his love. When he gets there it's like his entire being just shuts down. Bullet hold litter his chest, his eyes are closed, blood everywhere. With shaky fingers, he feels for a pulse.

Nothing.

“No! No, no, no!” He pulls Dean into himself and hold on, tears falling onto his lovers cheek and face. He can hear people running toward him, but he doesn't care. Dean is gone. 

There is no happy ending now. Maybe there never would have been. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing. 

He sees the gun off to the side and reaches for it without letting go of Dean's body. He stares at it in his hand for a long, agonizing second of absolute sadness. Then he kisses Dean's lips, hoping he'd feel them kiss back one last time. They don't. 

“Together.” He whispers to him and raises the gun to his temple, finger poised on the trigger, ignoring the voices yelling at him to drop the weapon. 

_Click_

Silence

He'd forgotten they were out of bullets.

The gun falls from his hand and he grips Dean to himself tighter, wailing sobs into his shoulder.

It was over.

No happy ending.


	11. Epilogue

Seth is numb.

He's been numb for hours.

He was alone now in FBI custody. That didn't bother him as much as it probably should have, but nothing mattered anymore. Dean was gone and everything he ever cared about, ever loved, went with him. He should have known there wasn't going to be a happy ending. False hope, false wishes.

Now he waits. He waits for whatever fate has in store and it doesn't even care what that would be. All he can do is stare at his cuffed hands attached to the steel table in the white interrogation room. They were still stained with Deans blood. Fresh tears stung his eyes and he didn't try to stop them. 

He jumps when he hears the door open and turns to see Agent Reigns walk in. He looks stone faced and that bothers Seth, he wants him to feel something for the life that he'd ripped from his hands. The only consolation he has is the bloody shirt he's wearing and the arm that Seth shot in a sling. He'd hurt him. Good.

He watches him sit across from him and stare at Seth as if trying to understand every nuance of his face. “Colby Lopez…”

“Don't call me that.” Seth corrects. 

Roman cocks his head a little and nods. “Ok. Seth Rollins, my name is-”

Again he interrupts the agent. “I know who you are.”

Roman takes a breath and Seth can tell he's trying to not explode at him. He wished he would. “Are you aware of what exactly you and Dean have done?”

He winces at Dean's name, hard to hear it coming from this mans mouth. “Yes.”

“You've killed a lot of innocent people.” Roman says. “Stolen a lot of money.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

That's the million dollar question. Why? He did it because Dean promised a better life. He did it because they could, because they were good at it, because they were together. Reigns wouldn't understand that. So he answers with a question of his own. “What happened to Dean's body?”

That hurt to ask and maybe Reigns could tell that because his face softens. “It'll be sent to his next of kin. His mother in Cincinnati.”

“No!” Seth snaps. “You can't send him to Cincinnati!”’

“Why?”

“He vowed never to go back there.” Seth answers and sniffs back fresh tears. 

Roman sits up. “I'm sorry.”

Seth looks away. Figures. Just one more slap in the face. He hated to think what Dean's mother would do for him, if anything. He'd be lucky if she didn't dig a ditch and drop him in it. There was nothing he could do to stop it, so he closed his eyes and shook his head to try and clear it just a bit. Then, “What's going to happen to me?”

“Jail.” Answers Roman. “For the rest of your life.”

Again he nods, expecting that answer. 

“You'll be sent to a federal penitentiary,” Roman continues. “You're going to pay for what you and Dean did.”

Then he pulls himself to his feet and makes to leave the room. But before he does, Seth calls after him. “We just wanted a happy ending.”

Roman stops and looks at him. “How'd that work out?”

And he was gone.

And Seth was still numb. 

He didn't think he'd ever feel again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has read along and left kudos and comments! Especially, thanks to demonjeans for the support and listening to my ideas for this! <3


End file.
